


His Type

by Hildigunnur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-22
Updated: 2005-10-22
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hildigunnur/pseuds/Hildigunnur
Summary: Harry learns that he doesn't have to pine forever for the one he loves.





	His Type

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015.
> 
> My thanks to the young redheaded man on route 4 who gave me an idea for one of Ron's lines. My deepest gratitude to jazzqueen for her beta, any remaining errors are all mine.
> 
> Written 2005 for Reversathon for shocolate who requested: Harry/Ron, of course post-Hogwarts, they get drunk, Harry wonders why Ron never asked Hermione out, Ron wonders why Harry never asked Ginny.
> 
>  

Harry never admitted this to anyone but there were days where he missed how things had been when Voldemort was still in existence. Not Voldemort himself though, but certain things at least. What he missed was having time to spend with his friends. As soon as they had rid the Wizarding World of its biggest threat, the burden of that task was immediately replaced by the responsibilities of coming off age. Holding a proper job, finding a place to live and so on.

He hardly ever saw his old friends. Ron was busy with the department of Magical Law Enforcement and Hermione was usually abroad since she was a liaison for the International Confederation of Wizards. Harry himself had been appointed to a committee, usually referred to as the Restoration Committee, which worked directly under the Minister of Magic and was supposed to come up with suggestions and solutions to modernise the Wizarding World and establish better relations with the Muggles. He still regretted the day he had agreed to do it. At the beginning it had looked like it would take couple of months but two years on, there seemed no end to the endless meetings, think-tanks, seminars, conferences and so on. It sometimes occurred to Harry that he hadn't actually defeated Voldemort but was now being tortured by him in this very complicated and elaborate way.

He missed his friends every day. The only times he saw them was at holidays and then they were all surrounded by other people. Harry doubted he'd seen either of them alone in almost two years.

Hermione did her best to keep in touch, sending him regular owls detailing her work and personal life. He tried to reply but felt that most of his letters to her sounded as if he were doing it merely out of a sense of duty.

Unfortunately when it came to Ron, neither of them was diligent enough to send regular owls. Harry had to admit to himself that their friendship had turned from easy-going camaraderie into something that wasn't anything but a loose acquaintance. A lot of it was his fault. He was almost never the first to contact Ron and when they did meet up he tried as he could to limit their chat to Quidditch, work, the weather and, on a good day, what Hermione was up to.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't blame his reluctance to keep in touch with Ron entirely on his demanding job. It was more complicated than that. In fact he preferred not to think about it, because then he was acknowledging it.

That he wanted Ron.

In the more than friends sense.

He sometimes wondered what had become of the bravery that had sustained him all through Hogwarts and through his final confrontation with Voldemort. It seemed so much scarier to even admit to himself that he was in love with Ron. It felt safer to build a wall around those feelings.

But safety came with the nasty side-effect of locking Ron out.

What he wouldn't give to have his courage back and stop being so worried about the consequences.

Considering this, Harry felt it was understandable that he had the biggest knot in his stomach he'd ever had in his life, now that he was going have a drink with Ron. Alone. For the first time in at least two years.

This had come about rather unexpectedly. Harry had bumped into Ron in a corridor at the Ministry (Harry was coming from a long and tedious meeting about Muggle relations) and they had greeted each other in a casual manner and exchanged idle comments. Then, to Harry's surprise, Ron had suggested they meet up later that week for a drink. It had occurred to Harry that he could find an excuse not to go but what the hell, he could have a drink with his friend without feeling the need to declare his love.

The Blazing Donkey was smaller and usually less busy than The Leaky Cauldron. While Harry didn't frequent pubs, he usually preferred The Blazing Donkey to most other Wizarding pubs in London. The interior was dark, and while there were couple of tables close to the bar, most of the pub was divided into booths. The smell of mead, Firewhisky and smoke hung in the air.

As Harry entered, he didn't see anyone but the barkeeper who seemed to be restocking the Butterbeer. For a fleeting moment, he considered turning away, if only for the distinct possibility that he might say something. But as he contemplated this, a cheery voice called out to him.

"Hey, Harry! Over here!"

Ron was sitting in one of the booths. On the table in the front of him were two glasses, one half-full and one empty, and a big bottle of Firewhisky. Harry didn't move right away. It was too late to bolt now.

Pushing out a chair with his right foot, Ron beckoned him to sit down. In almost prim way, Harry sat down, straight-backed, and politely greeted Ron.

That earned him a hearty slap on the back.

"Harry, mate, you look like you're here for a job interview!"

A nervous snicker escaped Harry's lips, causing Ron to shake his head.

"I swear they must be running you absolutely ragged in that rebuilding committee or whatever they call that thing. Or maybe it has sucked out your will to live, like Binns' lessons used to do!"

Harry meant to answer this in a witty manner but found that the words caught in his throat for some reason. What was wrong with him? He wasn't a bumbling teenager anymore and this was his best friend sitting in front of him, someone he didn't have to prove himself to.

Thankfully Ron wasn't waiting for any witty repertoire from Harry but grabbed the empty glass and filled it nearly to the brim with Firewhisky and then handed it over.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Harry took a big gulp, managing not to get a coughing fit as the liquid burned all the way down to his stomach, though his eyes did water a bit.

"So how are things? And I'm not talking about your boring job. I want to know what's happening with Harry - just Harry."

This question made Harry smile inadvertently. Maybe it was possible for him and Ron to revive their friendship.

"Not much. The Restoration Committee eats up all time I have, so my personal life is pretty non-existent. Would you believe that I've had my flat for two years now and I still haven't finished unpacking all the boxes? It's not like I had so much to begin with."

Ron laughed and shook his head.

"So you're not inviting anyone 'round for tea?"

"Hardly. I think Hermione is the only one who has seen the inside of the flat and I can tell you she wasn't impressed."

"Yeah, she told me about that. But, Harry, don't tell me you've been living the life of a monk all this time."

He looked down at the table, as Ron's incredulous statement had caused him to blush. Celibacy might not be what best described his situation. There had been what could be referred to as experimental episodes where he'd tested his luck at a Muggle gay club but in all earnest, it wasn't something he wanted to admit to anyone.

"Almost," he finally whispered into the table. "It's just … you know … I'm busy and not really ready to commit to a relationship."

"Hey, it's not like I'm the entire body of the Wizengamot trying you on your love life. If there's nothing to talk about, then there's nothing to talk about."

For a while, that was the final word on their love live. Instead they talked about Quidditch, politics at the Ministry and whether the Nimbus broomsticks would ever be in the same league as the Firebolts. They became increasingly animated as they consumed more alcohol and pretty soon someone's love life did become the topic of discussion. Well, in a way. The broomstick comparison had suddenly turned into a rant about Hermione's current boyfriend, Jacques, who was a charming young Frenchman in Harry's opinion but a drooling imbecile in Ron's eyes because that young Frenchman had been so bold to let it slip in a conversation with Ron that he preferred continental broomsticks like the Flugkörper. Harry had been listening, quite bemused, to Ron's rant when he started wondering, like he'd done when he was younger, about whether Ron had feelings for Hermione. As Ron lapsed into calling Jacques names that he wouldn't dare use in front of his mother, Harry decided that now was as good a time as any to ask.

"Ron, are you jealous of Jacques?"

"Why should I be jealous of that wanker?"

"'Cause he's Hermione's boyfriend?"

"Don't be daft." Ron shook his head. Harry merely raised one eyebrow.

"You've never been approving of her boyfriends."

"Harry, there's a simple reason. None of them have ever deserved Hermione. Come on, Harry. She's one of kind, so brilliant and magnificent."

"That doesn't mean that you don't find yourself worthy of her."

Ron laughed.

"Me? She's about a thousand miles out of my league. I mean, I've a fraction of her intelligence and just your average education. Face it, Hermione really deserves to be with someone who has initials behind his name, well, something else that G-I-N-G-E-R-T-W-A-T"

The mouthful Harry had just drunk was sprayed all over the table.

"You all right, mate?"

Harry used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, still laughing.

"You're too tense, Harry. You need that tension exorcised."

Grinning at Ron, Harry took another sip of the Firewhisky.

"Well, there's one more thing I need to know about you and Hermione. If we ignore the fact that you don't see yourself as worthy of her, would you date her?"

"Trying to play a matchmaker here?"

"No, simply curious."

"I wouldn't. Because she's not my type." Ron shrugged.

The question as to who was Ron's type died on Harry's lips. It might be too obvious.

"How about you?"

Glad that he didn't have a mouthful of Firewhisky this time, Harry looked startled at Ron.

"Me? What? Dating Hermione?" He wondered if Ron had gone off his rocker now.

"No, not Hermione. Other girls who obviously fancied you, like my sister."

Harry looked down, embarrassed. How on earth could he put this? He had the feeling that merely saying she wasn't his type wouldn't be answer enough for Ron.

"Yeah, Ginny's a great girl but …"

"Not your type," Ron finished in an exaggerated voice.

"Something like that," said Harry, rather lamely in his own opinion.

"So you like them small, raven-haired and pretty like Cho?"

The mention of Cho made Harry snort loudly. Perhaps it was best to be as upfront as possible.

"Umm, no. Generally speaking girls are not my type."

Now it was Ron's turn to spray the table with the contents of his mouth. He slammed his glass down so hard that some of the Firewhisky splashed out of it. Harry began examining the puddles on the table to avoid looking at Ron's stunned face.

After what felt like a week at least, Ron finally gasped:

"You're gay?"

Still not looking at Ron's face, Harry gave the smallest of nods, fearing if he looked up he would be met with a look of disgust.

"You're not taking the mickey here?"

Managing the smallest of whispers, Harry denied that before daring to take a brief glance at Ron, whose face, much to Harry's relief, wasn't full of disgust. He seemed surprised for sure and - Harry couldn't believe it - excited.

"Shite, Harry. Why'd you never tell me? For how long have you known? And don't tell me that Hermione knows!"

Harry felt the heat rising in his face. His blushing had to rival even the way Ron got flushed.

"Since we were seventeen or so. I'm not sure why I never told you. I suppose I was afraid. And no, I've never told Hermione. Not anyone really."

All of a sudden Ron grabbed Harry's hand, holding it tightly and looking intently at him.

"Well, there's something I've told Hermione but didn't dare tell you. There's a very good reason why Hermione was never my type. Not only am I gay but …" He fell silent for a moment. Harry hardly dared to breathe.

"I'm also in love with you, Harry, and have been for years," Ron then finally blurted out.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for this. He was even sure that he'd been more prepared for losing his parents when he was a baby. Never, not even in his wildest dreams had he ever wondered whether Ron returned his feelings. From the moment he realised that his feelings for Ron went beyond friendship, he'd always pictured himself pining for Ron, who would always be unattainable.

He must have been non-responsive for a while because his thoughts were interrupted by Ron clearing his throat. Harry was suddenly aware that Ron was still clutching his hand.

"I'm sorry, Harry, if I've made you uncomfortable. If you don't feel the same, then I'll just have to live with it."

Harry looked down at the hand holding his, the freckles that dusted the back of the hand and spread to the fingers. Slowly he moved his hand, interlacing Ron's fingers with his. Looking up into Ron's hopeful eyes, he leaned forward, barely touching his lips to Ron's.

Feeling as if his heart was about to pop out of his chest, Harry grabbed the edge of the table as Ron took control of the kiss, taking hold of Harry's head and slowly coaxing his mouth open. Harry's glasses pressed into his cheeks but that didn't matter. What mattered what that Ron was kissing him, plunging his tongue into his mouth.

Lifting his hands from the edge of the table, Harry put them on Ron's shoulders, squeezing them hard. Most of all, he wanted to kick away the table separating them. Every fibre in his body wanted to be as close to Ron as possible.

Yet Ron broke the kiss, and for a fraction of a second Harry feared he'd made a mistake. But Ron was still holding his head between his hands, tenderly moving his thumbs alongside Harry's jaws.

"I'm thinking, I want to go somewhere more private because I'm quite sure that the barkeeper isn't going to be very happy if we end up almost shagging in his pub."

Something inside Harry leaped - it might have been his heart - and made him tingle with nervous excitement.

"Damn, this is going to sound like a cliché, but... my place or your place?" Ron looked at him, grinning suggestively, causing Harry to snort.

"Seeing that I still haven't completely unpacked, I can only hope your place is cosier."

"Well, there are probably dirty pants on the floor and I'm pretty sure I haven't made the bed."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem."

They Apparated to Ron's flat which was indeed much cosier than Harry's flat, with a big, patched but fluffy sofa and deep armchairs in the living room, a nicely sized fireplace, pictures on the walls, a couple of broomsticks lying around and other things thrown about. It looked lived in, unlike Harry's place which looked like a storage space.

Harry's appreciation of Ron's interior decorating skills were cut short by the decorator himself as he lunged at Harry, grabbing him by the collar and kissing him so hard that Harry started to feel deliriously light-headed.

Digging his fingers into Ron's upper arms he tried to gain some leverage to be able to kiss Ron back, but it was as if he was to be devoured completely by the eager redhead. He found that he didn't mind, quite the contrary. Hearing his blood rush in his ears, he allowed Ron to ease off his cloak.

Ron didn't stop there. As soon he'd got rid of Harry's cloak, he was clawing at the fastenings of his robes. Harry was getting caught up in Ron's urgency. Growing hard, the blood thundering in his veins, torn between helping Ron and getting Ron's clothes out of the way. Both of them were breathing hard, desperate to feel skin on skin.

Soon as their bare chests met, their mouths met again and they tore at each other's clothes. When Ron had managed to completely get away with Harry's shirt, he broke their kiss. Harry hissed disappointedly but when kisses began raining on his neck and teeth scraping the skin, his hissing changed into moaning.

As much as he liked what Ron was doing, he wanted to feel Ron for himself. Boldly, instead of reversing positions, he snaked his fingers down Ron's sides to the waist of his trousers. He hesitated for a couple of seconds but then ran his hand over the front of the trousers to find Ron hard and ready.

Harry couldn't help but grin. It was quite amazing that Ron had an erection, all because of him. His fingers found the fly and he didn't waste any time in zipping it down and undoing the button on the top. To his delight and surprise he found that Ron had gone commando. Slowly he circled the stiff cock with his hand, stroking up to the head and moving the pad of his thumb over it. This earned him a moan from Ron, which in exchange made his own erection grow harder, almost to the point where it was painful.

Still stroking Ron's cock, he ground himself into Ron's hip. Not needing any further encouragement, Ron quickly opened Harry's fly and delved his hand down the waistband of Harry's boxers.

The breath literally caught in Harry's throat and he lost his rhythm when Ron started moving his hand. He had received hand jobs before but they never felt like this, like there was actually something that felt better than flying. How on earth would Ron's mouth around his cock then feel?

He didn't get time to finish this train of thought as Ron pulled him closer, spat on his right hand and aligned his cock with Harry's. Inhaling sharply, Harry marvelled at how it felt to have another cock, Ron's cock, rubbing slick against his. Concentrating on not coming right away, he looked into Ron's eyes. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked almost black.

Harry's restraint didn't last for long. He was matching Ron's rhythm with quick digs of his hips and his climax rushed forth. It was obvious that Ron wasn't far off either, as his strokes became rapid and erratic.

His body shook in great, big spasms as he came, his fingers clutching Ron's shoulders so tightly they would probably leave semi-permanent marks. Someone was gasping something; he wasn't sure whether it was Ron saying his name or vice versa. All he knew was that, as he began winding down, he felt hands circling his waist and hot lips pressing against his.

Without speaking a word, they both stepped out of their undergarments and trousers and made way to Ron's bedroom, still holding each other.

The appearance of the bedroom surprised Harry a bit. Somehow he'd thought it would look the same as Ron's old bedroom at the Burrow with its orange Chudley Cannons posters. Instead it'd been painted a blue colour and there was a matching bedspread.

Ron let go of him to remove the bedspread, revealing blue sheets. Using the moment, Harry removed his glasses, which had become very smudged, and put them on the chest of drawers next to him.

Turning around, he saw that Ron was already lying on the bed and beckoning him with a crooked finger and a raised eyebrow to join him. Harry didn't hesitate and got in next to Ron.

Finding each other with their lips, they enjoyed each other now with less fervour and more tenderness than before. The urgency from before had gone and at the moment what mattered was being so close to each other. Harry tried to get even closer by throwing a leg over Ron's leg. They lay there like that for a good while, kissing and simply staring at each other, until the closeness, the skin-on-skin flamed their lust again.

Turning Harry on his back, Ron started kissing his neck like before but this time around he didn't just keep to the neck or the shoulders. He licked Harry's collarbone, left a trail of kisses on his chest and nibbled on his nipples ever so carefully. Needing something to occupy his hands, Harry gathered fistfuls of the sheet underneath him.

Leisurely, Ron kept on moving further down, clearly enjoying kissing the soft skin on Harry's stomach and running his fingers along the line of hair leading from the navel down. Sucking in his breath, Harry waited in anticipation for Ron's mouth to reach its obvious goal.

When Ron reached his destination, he began by licking up the underside of Harry's cock. Harry had the feeling that he was licking away all traces of come from before. Ron knew exactly what he was doing, teasing and torturing with his tongue and making Harry want to scream for him to take the cock fully in his mouth.

Yet Harry was taken by surprise when his cock was finally enveloped by Ron's hot and moist mouth, causing him to arch up, but Ron took control and pushed Harry's hips down. This had to be heaven, Harry thought. While he'd experienced one mind-blowing thing after another that night, Ron sucking him had to be the thing closest to actually making that a reality.

For a second Ron let him out of his mouth, almost causing Harry to let out a frustrated moan but it never came to that as Ron sucked him right back in, deepthroating him even, and then Harry felt something wet pressing on his puckered entrance. Ron's wet finger. Cautiously, almost tenderly, Ron pushed his finger in and Harry was torn between two sensations; his cock being almost swallowed down by Ron and the strange invasion which was making him literally see stars.

As one of Ron's hands was now busy, it was easier for Harry to follow the instincts of his body and arch up, pushing as far as possible into Ron's mouth. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should take care as to not make Ron gag but he couldn't stop himself and if anything, Ron appeared to be encouraging him by thrusting his finger in a matching rhythm.

Harry felt his orgasm coming on, swelling up in him like the tide. Every nerve-ending seemed to be overloading and when it washed over him his whole body grew so rigid that his back was lifted several inches off the bed. He knew he was gasping out Ron's name but he didn't hear it over the blood pounding in his ears. All he could register was that he was coming in huge spurts into Ron's mouth and nothing had ever felt like it before.

So this is what having one's mind blown feels like, he thought as his boneless body sank back into the mattress. He was vaguely aware of Ron pushing himself up from the end of the bed and settling beside him.

With his eyes closed, Harry reached for Ron and said,

"I would love to take care of you but I don't think I can now, not after this. I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry. The pleasure was mine. This was something I've wanted to do for ages. Besides, you have a long time to pay me back. The rest of our lives! At least a thousand times!"

Harry didn't answer but he felt that finally, his future was looking bright indeed.

-fin


End file.
